Hikaru no Go does not belong to me.  It belongs to Hotta & Obata, and I 
wish they'd figure out a way to write more of it, dammit. *sobs over 
volume 23*


* * *

Modern Kyoto, 2002

* * *

"Let's see." Shindou Hikaru, age fifteen, stood at Kyoto Station in the
central portion of the ancient city, staring at a map.  Beside him,
Touya Akira and several other young pros looked impatient.  They'd
arrived from Tokyo a few minutes ago, and Shindou had been the only one
who thought to buy a map beforehand.

"We're staying at the Riverside Takase Hotel," Akira reminded him.

"I know! It's about a fifteen minute walk . . . that way," Hikaru
replied, and pointed northeast.  "We could catch a bus, but it's a nice
day outside, and we're not getting paid enough to splurge."

The other young pros sighed but privately agreed.  It WAS a lovely day
out; not too hot anymore, just perfect for strolling with the light
luggage they'd brought along for the weekend festival.  They'd been
hired by the city of Kyoto to teach go at a booth the next day, which
gave them today for exploring the city.  An early morning train ride had
been worth having a free day of sightseeing.

As they walked along, Akira forced himself to attempt civilized
conversation.  "Have you ever been to Kyoto, Shindou?"

"Nope, this is my first time.  I can't wait to see all the Heian era
buildings!"

Akira rolled his eyes.  "You are an uncultured clod, Shindou.  Nothing
has survived the Heian court except the streets and the Imperial Park.
Kyoto is a city made of wood. Things burn down."  Hikaru looked so
disappointed that Akira amended, "There is, however, a Heian court
museum not far from the Park."

"Where's that?"  Hikaru began peering intently at the map, and Akira
pointed it out to him.  Hikaru began turning the map this way and that,
causing Akira to grow angrier and angrier until he finally snatched the
map away from his rival.

"Look, if you want, I'll show you around the damn city myself.  At the
rate you find things, you'll get lost until our next game."

Hikaru looked rather embarassed, and mumbled, "Thanks."

* * *

The Riverside Takase Hotel was in a section of Kyoto that was relatively
cheap compared to the northern parts of the city, which is probably why
the go pros were staying there instead of somewhere more expensive.  It
was also within close walking distance of the train station and the
subway, making it good as a tourist hub.  Other hotels in the area even
welcomed foreigners.

Hikaru absorbed the sights with wide eyes, enjoying the beauty of the
old city.  Almost all the buildings were still made of wood, and the
street they walked on was ancient cobblestone that had survived
countless fires.  Every other stop along the way he had darted toward
different shops like a child.

"Where do you want to visit first?" Akira asked, once they had checked
into the hotel.

"The old Imperial Palace grounds," Hikaru said immediately.  Sai had
taught there, almost a thousand years ago.  Although Hikaru didn't
believe that he'd find the ghost there or anything like he'd mistakenly
thought about Shuusaku's shrine, he did honestly want to see the place
where Sai, the living man, had once been.  It was something he felt he
ought to do.

"Very well. It's just a park now.  We can take the subway at Marutomachi
station, get off at Demachi Yanagi station, and walk from there."  Akira
looked at Hikaru curiously.  "Any particular reason you want to start
there?"

"Well . . . it was at the Imperial Palace that the game of go was first
popularized, wasn't it? It's sort of my -- er, our heritage as go
professionals."

Akira looked thoughtful as they started the walk to the Kyoto subway
line.  "I never thought of it like that," he said, his dark green hair
swinging as he rubbed his chin.

Hikaru grinned.  "In a lot of ways, the Heian court's go players were
the first professionals in the whole country."  He sighed.  "I would
like to meet one of them," he said, almost forgetting and adding "again"
to the end of the sentence.

"You'll need a time machine," Akira snorted.  "Or a god who's in a
really, REALLY good mood."

Hikaru joking bowed, Shinto style, right there in the middle of the
street.  "O-kami-sama," he intoned, "Grant this unworthy person the wish
of meeting a Heian court go player in person."

"Shindou, not only are you uncultured, you are blasphemous too."

Hikaru laughed.  "It's not like I swore in the name of Buddha or
anything."

"Don't even joke about that!"

"Okay, okay, sheesh."

* * *

The two boys hopped off the Kyoto subway with a spring in their steps.
There was something about the old quarter of Kyoto; the rows and rows of
shops and eel-houses that had been there for hundreds of years, the
solid feel of old cobblestones worn down to smoothest rock, the beauty
of wood and stone and art that imbued the very air, that inspired a
sense of adventure in the young.  They were traveling through time to a
grander age just by breathing.

"Shindou, look, it's a go shop," Akira said, excitement in his usually
calm voice.  He pointed down the road that led to the south end of the
Imperial Grounds. While universities surrounded the north end, the
southern end was ringed with hundreds of stores.  It was not surprising
that there was one specializing in go, with what looked like a go salon
behind it.

"We have to go in!"

Tourists or not, Akira and Hikaru were first and foremost go players,
and like any hobbyists, they immediately flocked to specialty stores for
their kind.

Inside was dim and rustic.  The shop was at least a hundred years old.
Rows and rows of old go boards, go stones, go books, and various and
sundry go paraphernalia lined the shelves and walls.  The shop owner
looked surprised to see young teenagers walk in at first, then smiled
brightly when he realized who it was.

"Touya Akira! And . . . Shindou Hikaru, isn't it? Well, what do you
know? In my very own shop!"

"Hello," Akira said politely with a small bow.  He elbowed Hikaru, who
followed suit rather sloppily.

"What brings you two to Kyoto? The festival?"

Akira nodded, while Hikaru started poking around the go books.  "The
city asked several of us pros to come and teach in a booth tomorrow.
We're sightseeing today."

"Ah, I see.  Feel free to look around.  We have some unique items that
I'm sure you'll find interesting."

Hikaru ducked behind an aisle, and while Akira and the shop owner talked
about happenings in the go world, they entirely failed to notice the
brilliant flash of light that arced in the air for a split second.  They
did, however, hear the sound of several go stones crashing and bouncing
on the wooden floor.

"Shindou, what are you DOING?" Akira yelled loudly, and peered into the
aisle where the sound came from.  But there was no Hikaru to be found.
A bowl of old, mismatched go stones had tipped, and its contents spilled
onto the shelf and floor, but other than that there was no evidence that
anyone had been in that aisle seconds ago.

"Shindou?"

"Shindou-san?"

* * *

* * *

"Where did Shindou-kun go?" The store owner asked, concerned.  Akira
narrowed his eyes and glared at down the aisle, as if he expected Hikaru
to pop out of nowhere and blow him a raspberry for being so stupid as to
wonder where he went.

"He's probably trying to play some silly game," Akira concluded,
groaning in disgust.  He rubbed one aching temple, and sniffed the air
suddenly, mildly puzzled at sharp notes of ozone wafting through the air
with the dust motes stirred up by the crashing jar.

"Nothing appears to be missing," the shopowner said, a sound not unlike
relief in his voice.  He scooped up the ancient stones and righted the
jar, straightening the sign that said "Antique stones."

"Shindou may be an idiot, but he's not a thief."  Akira patted the man
on the arm, comfortingly.  "I apologize for the disturbance.  Would you
like to play a game while we wait for Shindou to get bored and come
back?"

Most shop owners do not become so unless they have an interest in the
wares which they purvey, so of course the shopkeeper jumped at the
opportunity.

"I'd be most honored," he said, and directed Akira to one corned where a
well-loved board and stones remained in perpetual readiness for games.
"I actually won the grand prize in the Kyoto prefecture tournament
fifteen years ago . . ."

* * *

Hikaru had sensed the magic as soon as he touched the stones.  It was
the same feeling he'd gotten when Sai first appeared, the feeling he had
when he made an incredible move in a game . . . like a rush of
electricity arcing up and down his body as something happened that only
he could see.

"Why me?" he thought as he landed hard, and then almost immediately
blacked out from the impact on the wooden floor.  The last thing he
remembered was a rush like free falling through the air.

He woke up, perhaps an hour later, to find himself rather uncomfortably
tucked into a thin futon on another hard floor.  He rubbed his head,
muttering about being too attractive to supernatural forces, and blinked
rapidly in the sunlight that assaulted his face from a rice paper wall
beside him.

He was still in Kyoto, that much was for certain.  But was it a
hospital? Surely not; while historic Kyoto still had buildings hundreds
of years old, most modern facilities like hospitals were, well, modern.
The room was large and bare of furnishings.  The floor wasn't even
tatami; it was plain wood, and soft curtains formed the wall on one end.
He was on some sort of raised platform as well, which was made of fine
plain lacquered wood.

"What . . . the hell?"

Lightning.  Why had lightning come up from the stones?  That magic
should only happen during a game of go.  It was a magic he'd only see
happen once to anyone else, and that was Touya Meijin, the first time
they'd ever met . . . before he'd even wanted to play on his own.  It
was that magic that had lured him into the game in the first place. The
light had flowed outward from the Meijin's fingers for the merest
second, sending a shiver down Hikaru's spine.  Sai's very presence
during a game had been much the same, only in a milder, more permanent
sense.  Now that Sai was gone, Hikaru had never expected to see the
magic happen to anyone else again.

Hikaru plopped back down on the futon, blowing his bangs into his eyes.
When he'd met Sai, he'd passed out for half the day. At least this
apparently wasn't as bad, he reflected, staring at his watch, which told
him that it was still eleven in the morning.  Then again, he'd gladly
give up a year of his life to see Sai one more time, if that's what the
magic had meant. Somehow Hikaru knew that Sai was not here, however.

At the far end of the room, one of the curtains parted, and a very
curiously dressed man entered.  His outfit was traditional court dress,
in a style similar to what Sai had always worn, although the colors were
much darker and he had no hat.  The man bore a wooden tray with tea
things, and walked with the careful steps of someone balancing something
very delicate and very heavy.

"I see you are awake, young one," the man said in an old, old dialect.
It took Hikaru a few moments of brain processing to decipher the words.
"That's good.  You must have had quite a nasty knock to your head."

"Uh, I guess," Hikaru managed to choke out, feeling almost as lost as he
did in English class.  "Where am I?" He sat up once again, looking with
interest at the tea tray.  His mouth tasted like ash.

The man apparently was having the same problem as Hikaru, because it
took him several seconds to answer, "Why, in the capital, of course.
Are you not from around here?"

"I'm from Tokyo."

"Never heard of that place.  Well, my boy, you're lucky that my
palanquin was passing by.  The streets are a very bad place to take a
nap."

Hikaru found that he could understand the man if he forced himself to
listen to the individual syllables and not the overall shape of the
sentence.  How could someone have NOT heard of Tokyo?  Even foreigners
from third world countries had heard of Tokyo, or so a lot of his
textbooks claimed.  And a palanquin -- waaaaait a minute.

"This is one of those historical reenactment thingies, isn't it?" Hikaru
said, feeling relieved at his deduction.  "Ah, I get it, I'll play
along."

"Pardon?" the old man said, pouring hot water into a tiny teacup and
mixing it with a miniscule whisk.

"Never mind," Hikaru said, and brushed his bangs out of his eyes.  "Why
did you bring me here? And what is your name? I'm Shindou Hikaru."  He
sat up again, and stepped off the platform onto the floor, where he
knelt in front of the tray.

"You may call me Naritada."  He handed Hikaru one of the tiny cups of
tea, and Hikaru accepted it gracefully, even remembering to add a polite
"dozo" without being poked in the ribs for once.

They drank the scalding tea in silent, small sips.  Hikaru closed his
eyes and savored the taste -- he generally preferred sodas to tea, but
in the absence of a handy Coke machine, this was more than enough to
whet his thirst.

"So, Hikaru, what brings you to the capital?"

"Go," Hikaru said automatically.  "I'm a pro."

"Igo? Pu-ro?" Naritada said the word carefully, rolling it around on his
tongue a few times to catch the feel of the syllables.  "What is a pu-
ro?"

Hikaru grinned.  This historical reenactment stuff was fun!  "Where I
come from --"

"Tokyo," Naritada interjected, his eyes alighting with interest.

"Yes, Tokyo, we have people who play go for a living.  We teach, we
play, we compete with each other for titles and money.  I'm still pretty
new; I've been a pro for just a little over a year now."

"Ahhh," the old man said in understanding.  "Much like our tutors here."
He glanced at one of Hikaru's hands, saw the fingernails worn to stubs,
and nodded approvingly. Any go player worth his salt had battle-scarred
hands like Hikaru.

"Exactly!" Hikaru agreed, setting his teacup down a little too
forcefully by accident.  Some of the hot liquid spilled onto his hand,
and he leapt up, sucking on the injured fingers with a pained expression
in his eyes.

"Be careful!"

Hikaru whimpered and cursed his klutzy, growing body.  Now that he was
standing fully upright, he was surprised at how low the ceiling here
was.  If he reached up one hand, he could place his palm on the wood
above him. He did so with his uninjured left limb, fascinated for no
obvious reason.  The ceilings in all the shops he'd been to earlier this
morning hadn't been THIS low . . .

"You're a tall one, just like my son Kohaku was.  He could do the same
thing."  Naritada gathered the tea things, and wiped up the spill with a
small scrap of old silk.

"Was?" Hikaru had caught the past tense and a note of melancholy in the
man's voice.

"He was banished several years ago by Michinaga, in case he might have
any aspirations to the throne.  He died shortly thereafter."

Something in the back of Hikaru's consciousness began ringing alarm
bells.  Michinaga, his mind whispered.  Where have we heard this name
before?

"I'm sorry," he said.

"As I said, it was a long time ago.  You remind me a lot of Kohaku,
actually.  Although your hair is shorter . . . and his was . . ."

"Not bleached?" Hikaru plucked one blonde strand from his fluffy bangs,
and studied it.  "I don't know why I still wear my hair like this.  It
was cool in '99, but now it's getting old . . ."

It was then that Hikaru noticed that Naritada's hair was quite long and
pulled back into a formal gray sweep.  He wore no hat, although he
seemed to have a severe case of hat head, judging from the kink around
his crown.

The alarm bells grew stronger in Hikaru's head.  Get out of here, his
subconscious screamed, and his consciousness agreed with it firmly.

"Um, I think I should be going soon," Hikaru said as politely as
possible, and bowed as well as he could when his brain was sending
signals to his legs to run fast and far away.

"Oh, leaving already?  That's a shame, we could have played a game of
go; my late nephew had a rather nice goban that the court gave to me
after his disappearance."

Hikaru gave a nervous laugh, and choked out, "Thank you for the offer,
but I really have to get going.  Touya's probably wondering if I got
lost or something by now."

Naritada sighed and heaved himself up, his heavy silk garments falling
into place around him like a waterfall.  "If you must.  There is a door
along the wall there, that will lead you to the street where I found
you."

"Thanks, Naritada-san!"  Hikaru practically tripped over himself in his
haste to depart, and eagerly slid open the doors, ready to burst forth
once again into the streets of historic Kyoto.

Unfortunately, he had not even burst a little bit when he realized that
the scene before him was NOT the Kyoto he'd supposedly passed out in an
hour ago.

Facing directly in front of him was a beautiful, carefully tended
garden.  Beyond that, as far as his eyes could see, were rows upon rows
of thousands of wooden roofed houses, their pointed ends a roiling sea
of dark brown.  No skyline such as that had been seen anywhere in Japan
for centuries.  Instead of the friendly apartments interspersed with
charming shops and modern telephone poles and other amenities, the vista
before him was filled solely with uninterrupted shacks.

Hikaru carefully stepped back inside and closed the sliding rice paper
doors, a horrible suspicion beginning to form in his mind.  The magic
had been there, after all . . .

"Uh, Naritada-san?" Hikaru said, a long forgotten lesson from middle
school Japanese history welling up from the depths of his memory.
Michinaga, his mind quoted in Sai's lecturing voice, was perhaps the
most ruthless of the Fujiwara regents ever to rule the Heian court.  He
had dozens of his own relatives killed in order to ensure that he
retained his regency.  He was the one that ordered me banished in the
name of the Emperor . . . he was the one that allowed me to be framed by
my own cousin.

"Hikaru-san, is there something wrong?"

Hikaru turned slowly, a trickle of fear killing his enthusiasm of
seconds ago.

"You're not a historical reenactor, are you."

"What's a -- hesutorikaru rienakutaa?"

Hikaru's headache returned with a vengeance, and he felt his body
threatening to pass out once again.  Lightning crackled on the edge of
his vision. No, he told himself.  No gods should have been in THIS good
of a mood . . .

"Never mind that. What year is it?"

"That's a strange question.  It's Kankou 7, of course."

Hikaru sank to the ground weakly.

"You're telling me it's ONE THOUSAND TEN AD???"

* * *

* * *

"Hmmm."

Akira and the shopkeeper both studied the board intensely.  They were
only about a third of the way through the game, but it was already clear
whose skill was superior.  Rather than drag it out, it is considered
honorable to resign when the outcome is obvious.

"I have lost," the shopkeeper said with a laugh, and bowed.

"Thank you for the game," Akira answered, and started pointing out some
of the other man's mistakes.  "Your play was solid until here -- had you
defended this stone instead of attacking on the north side of the board,
I would have been in a much more difficult position."

"Ah, I see now. I could have connected these in two turns."  The man
chuckled softly as he studied the board configuration.  "Wait 'til I
tell the boys in the salon tonight that I lost to Touya Akira!"

Akira smiled back, faintly embarassed.  "It was an honor to play you,
sir," he managed.  "I've still got much to learn myself, and every game
teaches me more."

"So modest, too."  The shopkeeper began clearing away stones, and
glanced toward the door.  "Your friend has yet to return.  I have to
admit, I'm not sure why, but I somehow think that boy is almost as
talented as you.  The go world sure will be exciting in the next few
years, let me tell you."

"Shindou is . . ." Akira searched for a suitable word, and finally found
one, "surprising.  In many, many ways."

* * *

Hikaru felt like he was having a heart attack.  This must be what it
feels like, he said to himself, gasping and clutching his chest as he
panicked. His heart felt as though it had sunk down to his stomach, and
was waging a war with the other organ for dominance of his abdomen.

"One thousand ten AD," he repeated, in a much quieter voice.  "The Heian
court.  The reign of the . . . Fujiwara?"

Naritada shrugged and reached out a hand to help the hysterical boy.
"I'm not sure what one thousand ten 'ei-di' means, but yes, this is the
capital city of Heian-kyou, and we are indeed under the reign of the
Fujiwara.  My name is Fujiwarano Naritada."  He studied Hikaru
thoughtfully, and felt the young man's forehead, checking for a fever.
"Are you sure you're alright?  You seem to have forgotten a lot of
things."

"I don't think I ever learned them, gramps," Hikaru, replied, rubbing
his face anxiously.  Suddenly, a thought occurred to him, and he had to
ask, "Have you ever heard of Fujiwarano Sai?"

Naritada looked troubled at the mention of the name.  "Of course.  He
was the nephew I mentioned."

Hikaru became terribly excited, his heart leaping back into its proper
position and thumping like a puppy for all of five seconds, before he
remembered what Naritada had said before.  "Oh.  Your late nephew."

"Unfortunately.  He disappeared four years ago, soon after my son Kohaku
disappeared.  'Twas a pity, too, since he'd only been sentenced to exile
for six months."

Hikaru had never heard that part of the story.  "That's all? For what he
did?"

"You assume he did something." The old man bent down and picked up the
tea tray with a groan of exertion.

"Well, yeah, to get exiled and all," Hikaru finished lamely.

Naritada began walking toward the curtain that formed the far wall,
where he had first come in, and Hikaru followed automatically, having to
mince his steps to avoid passing by the shorter man.

"He cheated in front of the Emperor, or so Tsuyujima, his rival, claims.
The Sai I always knew would have been too honest to cheat."

"Same here," Hikaru muttered under his breath.  Sai had hated cheating,
and loved meting out divine justice.

"I believe he was set up by Tsuyujima and Michinaga.  Sai would have had
a tenuous claim to the throne, and Michinaga so hates competition for
his grandchildren.  They wanted to discredit him, not kill him."

Hikaru nodded.  "They didn't understand that not being able to play go
would kill someone like Sai."

"You sound as if you knew him yourself," Naritada commented, and set the
tea tray down once they passed through the curtain.  The room they were
now in was much larger and had a taller ceiling than the other portion.
There had been a step down, and looking back Hikaru realized that the
room they had left was some sort of sleeping area with a raised floor.

"I think all go players know each other, on some level," Hikaru said
carefully.

Now they were in a more central room, and as Hikaru watched with wide
eyes two young servant girls came along and whisked the tea tray to
another part of the mansion they were in.

"Shall we play a game?"

Hikaru looked to where Naritada was gesturing, and saw a beautiful,
lovingly crafted goban settled against one wall.  The light streamed in
from the open sliding door that it was in front of, illuminating the
water of a koi pond and the dance of the carp inside it.

"As I said, this belonged to my nephew Sai."  Naritada kneeled in front
of the goban, and touched it reverently.  "I keep it here in the hopes
that someday he may return, however small that hope may be. Go on, sit,
Sai won't mind us playing, wherever he is."

For the first time, the impact of his situation sunk into Hikaru's
beleaguered mind.  He had, through the benevolence of some god, been
tossed back nearly a thousand years, and was now being asked to play a
game of go with Sai's uncle.

Sai was still gone.  Disappeared, to them, as he was to Hikaru.  Oh Sai,
Hikaru wanted to cry out, why don't you ever let people know when you're
planning to leave?  You seem to have hurt as least one other person as
much as you hurt me . . .

Feeling quite sorry for himself, Hikaru sat in front of the board, and
touched the kaya wood delicately.  Immediately, the lightning flashed up
his arm, and he gasped in shock.  Naritada appeared not to have noticed.

"This . . . this is the board that Sai played at, every day, for his
whole life . . ." Hikaru stare at his hand, puzzled at the flash of
magic.  Had it come from him, or from the go board?

"Well, not his whole life.  This was a gift from the Emperor Ichijo, for
Sai's coming of age, two months before he disappeared."  Naritada took a
bowl of white stones, and handed the black stones to Hikaru.  "Shall we
play an even game?"

"Sure," Hikaru agreed, and hesitantly picked up a black stone.  The
lightning did not return, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"No matter where you are, go will always be the same." Naritada smiled,
the papery skin around his eyes crinkling with warmth.

"Oh, I think some things might change a little." Hikaru picked up a
handful of black stones, and Naritada set out two white sones.  They
counted them out together -- two, four, six, eight.  Hikaru was white.

And this is the Heian! Hikaru bit his lip.  There was one change right
there.  No komi . . . no five and a half moku given to him . . . this
was an advantage he'd gotten spoiled by when he played white.  He'd just
have to play like he was black, then, he decided. He closed his eyes,
and the eyes that opened a moment later were completely different.  Go
WAS go, no matter where you were in the world, and apparently no matter
when you were, either.

He took a deep breath, and cleared his mind.  The solid ping of shale
against the kayo wood forced him to focus on the game.

Unconsciously, he took out the fan he had purchased after the final time
he had met Sai, in his dreams, and held onto like a lifeline.  He kept
it in his pocket, and always held it when he believed he needed Sai's
strength. He'd need it here, to play on Sai's board.  With Sai's stones.
Against Sai's uncle . . . in Sai's world.

* * *

"Shindou," Akira muttered as he left the go shop to return to the
streets of Kyoto.  "I don't know the heck you think you're doing,
disappearing like this, but I don't have to sit around and wait for
you."

Akira took a deep breath to dispel his anger.  Hikaru always made him
unreasonably angry; he had since the very first time they'd met.  Lion
and Dragon, an overzealous reporter in Go Weekly had called them once.
Doomed to clash every time they tried to breath the same air.

He walked casually down the cobblestones towards the Imperial Park.
Perhaps Hikaru had gone there without him.

He would not admit that he was starting to get worried.

* * *

Pa-chi.  Hikaru's infamous concentration had taken hold, and the
universe around him consisted of nothing more than black and white
stones and a kaya wood grid.  The endless possibilities of go
configurations ran through his mind faster than he could consciously
think, and each plunk of his stones against the board was a solid,
impressive move.

But Naritada was strong, stronger than Hikaru would ever have guessed.
He felt something oddly familiar about the game play, and then realized
it felt a lot like he was playing against Sai again, albeit a much
weaker Sai, one who had yet to master the modern strategies needed to
capture larger territories against greater odds.

Pa-chi.  Naritada's move sparkled brilliantly on the board.  There was a
danger, but Hikaru could cut it off *there* -- and gain three more moku
at the same time.

He raised the stone high, and deliberately placed it with more force
than necessary.  As he held the stone for few seconds, pressing it down
as if to affix it to the board, a flash of light emanated from his
fingers.  Hikaru tried to hide his gasp of surprise. The magic WAS in
the board. Had Naritada seen it?  Hikaru looked up into the face of the
old man, expecting to see indifference or concentration.

Not awe.

"The hand of god," Naritada said softly, looking straight into Hikaru's
eyes.  Hikaru blanched.  Sai had never explained exactly what the kami
no itte was, exactly, but surely it was more than just a few random bits
of shine leaking out from a particularly good move.

"No," Hikaru said, surprised at the firmness in his voice.

"Of course, not yet," Naritada agreed, shaking his head to clear it.
"But this play . . . this strong, solid play, so much like Sai's go . .
. in it, I can see the hand of god.  In there, somewhere.  Waiting to
come out.  Someone such as I am unable to draw it out, but Sai . . .
yes, I would have liked for Sai to play against you."

Hikaru had never regretted not finishing that final game with Sai more
than at this point.  He lowered his eyes to the board, unable to meet
the old man gaze for gaze.

"Are all the pu-ros from Tokyo this strong?"

"There are a lot who are stronger than I am," Hikaru said.  "I'm still
young.  Touya Koyou says that I and the other new pros need to mature
more as players before we can begin to really understand the nuances of
true strength."

Naritada nodded in agreement.  "Sai was young, too, which is why he
never was able to attain the hand of god while I knew him.  I taught him
to play, you know.  So much potential wasted . . . and for politics."
Naritada looked old and bitter then, and Hikaru longed to tell him the
whole story, at least the parts that he understood.  But he knew, much
as he knew that he could never share the secret of Sai with those in the
future, that he could not explain Sai's journey in time to anyone here
in the Heian.  They'd never believe him, for starters.

The Sai that Hikaru had known had lived an entire extra life, and still
been unable to reach the hand of god.  If this go board had been a gift
for his coming of age, it meant that Sai had been no more than twenty
when he died, assuming that the coming of age ceremony had never really
changed over the centuries.  Hikaru was rather shaky on history as a
whole, and unless Sai had lectured him, he rarely paid attention.  Now
that he was apparently stuck in the Heian, he hoped his ignorance of his
own country wouldn't come back to bite him.

The Heian . . . why am I accepting this so easily? he asked himself, now
that he was free to concentrate on something besides go.  The comment I
made in the street was a joke.  Surely the kami-sama -- if they even
exist -- would have realized that.

The part of him that acted smarter than the rest of him answered: The
reason you're accepting it is because it's real, and if you don't accept
it, you'll go nuts. And we don't want that now, do we? So let's NOT
dwell on it.

The human mind has a remarkable ability to heal itself in these sort of
situations.

"Since you are here to play go, you'll probably want to play against
someone strong," Naritada was saying.  "The Emperor normally takes a go
lesson around midday.  Would you like to play a game against him?  I'm
sure that he will appreciate your talents."

"Erk," Hikaru said, and flinched.  "Would Michinaga-sama allow it? I
mean, I'm a stranger, I'm no relation to anyone in the court, I'm weird
looking . . ."

"If I request it, I'm certain.  You are my guest here, after all, and
Michinaga IS my cousin."  Naritada patted Hikaru's hand reassuringly.
"Although we will have to do something about your appearance.  Does
everyone dress in the manner as you are currently in Tokyo?"

Hikaru glanced down at his worn jeans, white t-shirt, blue over shirt
with stenciled rabbits, and signature enormous sneakers.

"Most boys my age do," he said, mildly defensive.

"Well, fortunately, you are about Kohaku's height.  There is at least
one court outfit he never wore that should fit you well.  It may be a
bit behind current styles, but that is excusable for one who hasn't been
to court before." Naritada began clearing the stones, and Hikaru
assisted him, until the board was once again in rights.

Hikaru sighed, and decided that all things considered, he could be in a
lot worse shape than he was in now.  If Naritada hadn't -- well, hadn't
rescued an unconscious stranger, Hikaru might well be dead by now,
trampled in the streets by a horse or crushed by a palanquin.

"Thank you, Naritada-san," Hikaru said, and followed the man to yet
another part of the mansion. "Oh, and do I have to wear one of those
funny looking tall hats? Please tell me I don't . . ."

* * *
* * *

Some time later, Akira paused outside of the boundaries of the Imperial
Park, his hair ruffling softly in the breeze.

Like Hikaru, he felt some strange, distant connection to this place.  It
was in the court that igo had gained popularity, and allowed talented
players to first make a living trying to discover the universe in a
configuration of stones.  Unlike Hikaru, Akira knew that the court
hadn't been held on the actual Imperial grounds very often, due to the
fires that constantly burned down structures in the city as recently as
a hundred years ago.

People often joked about Tokyo constantly being rebuilt after monster
attacks, but it was actually grounded in the historical reality that
when you have an old wooden city, stuff will rarely survive for very
long.

Peeved at Hikaru for not being within eyeshot as soon as he had arrived
at the grounds, Akira turned around and went back another block towards
the river, and spotted the rest of the pros standing in line at a ramen
shop.

"Yo! Touya-san! Get over here, they have green onion ramen on the menu!"
Waya called enthusiastically.  Akira trotted over to them obediently,
breathing slightly heavier than before with the effort.  He reminded
himself to not get used to the sedentary lifestyle of a pro too early.

"I think I'll take just ramen myself, but I'm happy to see you're so
enthused over the prospect."

Waya grinned.  "I haven't had a good bowl of green onion ramen in ages.
Say, Touya, where's Shindou?  We thought he was with you."

"I thought he was too.  He disappeared about two hours ago." Akira
sighed and shrugged, his light windbreaker crinkling with the motion.
"If he was half as good at go as he is at getting lost . . ."

"Oh well.  He'll turn up again when he's hungry.  Man, and the ramen is
only 400 yen a bowl!"  Waya's eyes shone with joy.  "Shindou will
certainly regret missing out on THIS . . ."


* * *

After a rather confused moment where Hikaru had quietly inquired about
the "facilities" and Naritada directed him out to the outhouse in the
garden, they were inside a dressing room of the mansion, where Naritada
oversaw servants covering Hikaru in the clothing of a lower ranking
courtier.

"What do you mean, they're not on the capital grounds?" Hikaru said,
peering over his shoulder to stare at the enormous drooping sleeve that
fell behind him.  The court outfit was HEAVY.  It's a good thing Sai was
a ghost; it would have been hard for him to walk around like this all
the time, Hikaru thought.

"The Palace burned down several years ago.  Currently, the Emperor's
court is being held in the Biwa mansion, two streets to the north of
us."  Naritada chuckled.  "You don't hear much by way of news in Tokyo,
do you?"

"Eheheh," Hikaru laughed nervously, and winced when Naritada stuck a
tate-eboshi on his head.  The large hat added to his already relatively
tall height, but he just felt SILLY in the thing.  The rest of the
outfit was rather neat, however.  Formal clothes had changes so much
over the centuries; no one had worn an outfit like this in ages.  Hikaru
touched one of the sleeves, cautiously.  It was genuine silk, carefully
dyed and embroidered in a pale cream and yellow pattern.  It was the
everyday wear of the courtier; nothing terribly fancy by court
standards, but Hikaru felt incredibly overdressed and not a little
strange wearing the clothes he'd seen Sai in every day for three years.

"I've never worn a konoshi before," Hikaru said, lifting one of the
heavy, strange sashinuki pants to stare at the unworn soles of the tabu
that had replaced his reliable old gym socks.

"Most of the commoners outside of the court never have," Naritada
replied, settling his own tate-eboshi in the hat-head grooves that
permanently kinked his long hair.  He tied strings underneath his chin
to hold it in place, which also acted as a sign of his status.  "Warrior
generals prefer the soh, and garments such as these are not really meant
to be worn outside civilization.  One who is skilled at go such as you
cannot be a commoner however, so the assumption of the seventh rank for
you will be quite all right."

Hikaru nodded.  "In my ti-- er town, Tokyo, only a very few people wear
formal clothes anywhere.  Western wear has sort of taken over."

"Western? You mean like Kyushu?"

Hikaru gave up.  "Yeah, like Kyushu.  The style of, uh, kimono they wear
there. We adapted them."  Something that had been bothering Hikaru
finally caused him to speak his mind.  "Is it really all right for me to
meet the Emperor?  I'm . . . a nobody.  Just saying I'm seventh rank
doesn't make me anything special."

"But I am a courtier of the second rank, and I will be escorting you,"
Naritada said, and that was that.  "Just do not say anything.  The
Emperor will be behind a screen in the audience room; you can remain
outside until I speak with His Excellency Michinaga."

The servants (who had all been wearing plain clothing themselves, Hikaru
had noted) trickled away quickly like mice to their holes.  Considering
the richness of the house that he was in and the fact that Naritada had
just proclaimed himself to be the second rank (and now had on the
lavender court robes on to prove it), Hikaru surmised that Naritada was
far more important than he'd originally guessed.

Let's see, he desperately told himself as they left the mansion and
bundled into the palanquin, which would take them to the Biwa estate.
Court ranks in the Heian determined position and status.  As a newly
proclaimed seventh rank, I should technically not be allowed in to see
the Emperor . . . but Naritada can bypass that, I guess.

The second-ranked Naritada, a count by the Heian rankings, pointed out
various mansions as they passed through the crowded streets of the
Fujiwara section of Heian-kyou.  Hikaru nodded in interest, trying to
calm his fluttering nerves.  His stomach growled, and he had a sudden
craving for green onion ramen.

"When was the last time you ate?" Naritada yelled over the noise of
daytime Heian-kyou's crowded streets.  Dozens of palanquins, carried by
hundreds of servants, carted nobles to and fro.  More than one palanquin
had a drooping sleeve suddenly hang out of the door, as a noble lady
spied a courtier she favored.

"Uh, on the train this morning," Hikaru replied before thinking.

"What's a tu-rain?"

"A method of travel," Hikaru answered.

"I'll ask you about it later," Naritada said, as they approached the
Biwa mansion where court was currently held.

* * *

The group of young pros sat at a large table in the ramen shop, Waya
happily slurping the green onion special he'd ordered.  Akira picked at
the slices of pork in his ramen, but he felt a little guilty enjoying
one of Shindou's favorite dishes without his rival.

"Touya-san, stop worrying about Shindou! He's probably laughing at us,
wherever he is," Ochi declared, and pushes his glasses up
authoritatively.  "So irresponsible.  He's a shame to all pros."

"Ochi, please shut up," Waya grumbled, and slurped up another chopstick-
full of noodles.  "Akira can worry about Shindou if he wants to.  Just
how and where did he disappear, anyway?"

Akira set his chopsticks down.  "We were in a go shop.  I was speaking
with the owner, and Shindou was poking around in another aisle.  We
heard a crash, and looked, and he was just gone."

"D'you think he was kidnapped?" Waya said with a grin.

"Don't be silly," Ochi snapped.  "Why would anyone kidnap Shindou? If
they'd want to kidnap anyone, it'd he Touya, since at least they could
hold him for ransom then."

"Maybe they thought Shindou was Touya?"

"I doubt it," Akira said, shaking his head.  "There was no noise of
footsteps running away, no sound of a struggle . . . and the bell didn't
ring to let the shopkeeper know someone had left."

That last statement silenced everyone for a moment.

Isumi spoke up first, joining in the conversation finally. "Hey, Touya-
san," he said slowly.  "This IS old Kyoto . . . you don't think
something . . . supernatural could have happened to him, do you?"

"You mean like a ghost ate him or something?" Waya said, eyes wide.

"I don't believe in superstitions," Akira said, rubbing his chin.
"Although Shindou DID do something really stupid early this morning . .
. he mocked a Shinto prayer right in the middle of the street and asked
to meet a Heian court go player."  He shook his head in denial.  "No,
that's just silly.  He probably broke one of the antique go stones he
was messing with and ran to hide."

"Antique go stones?" Waya said, interested.  "Just how antique?"

"It's hard to date them precisely, since the older ones are worn just as
smooth as the modern ones with time.  The shopkeeper said he wouldn't
have been surprised if some of those weren't a thousand . . . years
old." The Heian.

Everyone was silent again.

"I have heard," Isumi said carefully, "that sometimes objects can act as
a conduit through time."

"You think he ended up back in the Heian era?"

"The kami-sama might have heard his wish," Waya said with a nod, and
reattacked his ramen.  "Then again, it's more likely that the kami-sama
would just bring a ghost around to meet him.  Heh, that would explain a
few things about Shindou, wouldn't it?"

Akira picked up his chopsticks and picked at his own ramen again, unable
to put his thoughts into words.

"He'd get eaten alive in the Heian," Ochi said knowledgeably.  "Even if
he does manage to avoid being mistaken for a peasant, he'd have NO idea
how to act."

"I certainly wouldn't want to have lived in the Heian, either," Waya
agreed.  "You were either a bored noble, or more likely, a starving
serf. I'm more than happy to be a child of the twenty first century." He
slurped his ramen juice from the bowl to prove his point.

"I just don't believe in that sort of magic," Akira said weakly, but
somehow knew without a doubt that Shindou's disappearance was more than
just the other boy playing a strange game of hide and seek.  Hikaru
didn't have the attention span for anything besides go to play at a game
for more than a few hours.


* * *

Sai had never really talked about his past much.  Whenever he spoke of
his life before Hikaru, he had mostly described the events surrounding
Torajiro.  Honinbo Shuusaku had such a profound impact on both Sai and
the country itself that it was easy to see why Sai loved that time of
his life best, but it saddened Hikaru that he hadn't spoken more of the
uncle that now walked by Hikaru's side, or the cousin that had been
killed needlessly.  Perhaps those events had depressed Sai too much; the
glamorous world of the Heian had been ripped from him by thoughtless
ambition, and Sai could have never gone back.  At that time he had lost
his innocence, and the world had changed.

I've lost my innocence too, now, I suppose, Hikaru thought has he
stepped out of the rickety palanquin and stood before the grounds of the
Biwa mansion.  Naritada's entourage, apparently mostly minor officials
themselves not above the fifth rank, left them alone as they entered the
covered walkway that led from the muddy street to the main buildings of
the temporary palace.

Kankou 7.  Ten thousand ten.  Who was emperor then?  Michinaga was in
power, but he remained regent for a long time . . . wasn't it with his
death that the Fujiwara family went into decline?  Aw, man, I should
have studied more, Hikaru lamented.

The court was being held in the large room of the Biwa mansion.  The
building was a Fujiwara possession, and firmly in the Fujiwara "section"
of Heian-kyou, much like Naritada's mansion had been.  In the anteroom
of the court, small groups of men, probably officials lesser than the
fifth rank, sat and chatted and played go and other games. Someone
played a stringed instrument.  Hikaru glanced at one of the many fine go
boards, and was surprised at how well the games were going.  By his own
standards they would be amateurs, since they couldn't all be go tutors
to the emperor, but their skills were definitely up to insei levels if
not higher.  Hikaru would have enjoyed playing any one of them.

"You must wait here, Hikaru," Naritada said, and pointed to a corner.
"You can play a game if you wish, but I will come and get you if
Michinaga grants you an audience with the Emperor."

Hikaru nodded, and groaned when he felt the tate-eboshi slipping off his
head.  He reached up to grind it onto his hair, muttering about modern
conditioners ruining traction for the sake of shine.  He dropped as
gracefully as he could into a kneeling position in front of an empty go
board, flipping his sleeves out like he had seen Sai do so many times.
Naritada gave him a long, hard look, then slipped through the curtains,
into the main room of the court.

"Man, this is complicated," Hikaru complained to himself, and sighed,
glad that pro exhibitions in his time didn't require any more ceremony
than a polite "please" and "thank you."  He touched the wood of the
board gently, then picked up a shale stone, the cool, smooth surface
strange after touching the silk of his sleeves.

"Sai," he whispered, and placed the stone on the board, recreating one
of the games he had recently lost, trying to find some way that he could
have won it.  "So this is what you did every day?  Of course, you were
fourth ranked, you said as much yourself, so you didn't have to wait . .
. but this is the sort of existence you led."  He glanced around the
room again.  None of the other men paid him any attention outright,
although there was an occasional curious glance.  There were no women
here; the Empress and her own court resided in a separate mansion,
hidden behind curtains and fans and layers of silk.

The Heian was regarded with a sort of distant awe in his time, both at
the splendor of their lives and also at the complete disregard they had
for the outside world.  The rich nobles of the court wasted their lives
away playing go, promising love and then breaking their vows, fighting
for petty ranks and status, penning poems that showed their wit and
their aesthetics clearly.  Hikaru's had never written a poem in his
life.

But he was good at go, at least.

He had recreated a good portion of the game when one of the others in
the room finally worked up the nerve to approach him.

"Greetings," said the stranger, a rather plump old man.  "We have never
seen you here before, although we all have been here before.  As the
river flows, so does the water change, so that one cannot step into the
same river twice in one season."

It took Hikaru a moment to realize that the man had quipped a poem
without even breaking a sweat.  He had a moment of panic before deciding
he'd make more of a fool of himself if he attempted to answer in kind.

"Uh, I'm a go player from Tokyo," he said, and cringed and the bluntness
of his own speech compared with the flowing poetry.

The courtier blinked for a moment while he tried to decipher Hikaru's
strange accent, then shrugged it off and kneeled on the other side of
the go board, examining the game with unabashed curiosity.  Hikaru
continued placing stones, looking for the critical mistake he had made
last week that had eventually cost him the game.

"Your go is very good," the man said, "although I am not familiar of the
practice of playing the game entirely by oneself."

"I'm recreating a game I played before," he explained, and grinned when
he saw the error he had made.  Had he attached at the star, he'd have
cut right through the path his opponent had sought to complete.  Hikaru
couldn't believe he'd missed that.

"Oh," the man said.  "I have heard that skilled players can do this.
Although to witness the ghost of a battle lost would cause me great
heartache."

At the word "ghost" Hikaru jumped a little, and then realized the man
had slipped back into poetic speech again.

"If one can vanquish the ghost that has been resurrected, then the
battle has now been won," Hikaru replied, surprised to hear himself
assuming some of the flowing speech of the other.  Naritada had spoken
in constant prose, but then again, this was the actual COURT, and
everyone here was constantly trying to impress and out-do everyone else.

"But can a battle that was once lost ever be turned to a victory? The
battlefield gives scars that time cannot reverse."

"Time cannot reverse a scar, but instead it can heal it, making it as
new.  A warrior's scars are lessons learned."

The older man chuckled slightly at Hikaru's unexpected comeback.  As for
himself, Hikaru was amazed at how easy it was to drop into the poetic
speech of the everyday court.  Heck, with a little work, he could even
trim that last one down to a haiku!  Only, they didn't write haiku in
the Heian, did they?  It was a longer poem back then . . . er, now.

Naritada returned from beyond the curtain, and gestured at Hikaru to
come near him, quickly.
The young boy did so, leaving the old courtier to study the complex go
game that Hikaru had left behind on the board.

"His Excellency has agreed to grant you a private audience with the
Emperor after the midday meal.  In the meantime, we'll stay here at this
mansion, but we don't have to remain in these stuffy rooms."

Hikaru was beginning to get the distinct impression that Naritada didn't
like the courts very much either.

"Food would be good," Hikaru agreed, and followed Naritada out of the
anteroom towards another building of the mansion, where they apparently
had food prepared for an afternoon meal.

Behind them, in the anteroom, the older courtier was looking in
amazement at the game that Hikaru had battled.  Some of the moves that
appeared so simple on the surface had deeper currents; the battle fought
had truly been between masters at the game.

"I haven't seen a game so well played since Sai disappeared," the old
courtier mumbled thoughtfully to himself, and went to gather his
comrades and show them the magnificent battle that the stranger had
waged with himself.

* * *

Determined not to let Hikaru's thoughtless disappearance ruin his
vacation, Akira had decided to visit the Costume Museum.  He walked
through the galleries, amazed at the careful detail paid to each and
every one of the miniature models.  The layouts for the fictional Tale
of Genji were the most spectacular; built entirely at scale, in wood,
completely with colorful characters enacting scenes from the world's
first novel.

More than one scene depicted the nobles playing games of go.  Even the
go boards had been faithfully recreated in miniature.  Akira studied one
of the games, pleased to see that they had used a genuine game, although
the style of play indicated it was contemporary as opposed to an older
setup.  That they had made the effort at all indicated how well thought-
out each display was.

Akira mulled over the idea of Hikaru's thoughtless wish.  Back when the
strange player known as Sai had reigned over the internet go world,
someone had proclaimed him the Igo no Kami.  Had a god of go seen fit to
grant Hikaru's wish?  It was silly, simply silly, and ground against
Akira's logical mentality.  Things like that just didn't happen.  He
half-believed in the gods, and Buddha, but religion had never figured
largely in his upbringing.  His father had not become the Meijin by
being superstitious.

Yet his father would probably believe the wild theory of Hikaru being
abducted into the Heian, Akira mused.  Touya Koyou liked that sort of
story, so long as it had a purpose.

"This place is just making it worse," Akira muttered, and left the
costume museum, dissatisfied with himself.

* * *

The midday meal for the lower ranks of the court was served on elegantly
arranged trays.  There were no tables; everyone sat in small groups in
the yard of the Biwa mansion, and ate and talked.  Things were rather
informal today, as it was an ordinary time and only the minimal amount
of ceremony was required for propriety's sake.

Hikaru picked at the unfamiliar food, longing for a bowl of ramen.  "I
bet Waya and Isumi had already found the best ramen shop in Kyoto and
are eating without me," he whined to himself.  Here he saw noble women
for the first time; they wore layers and layers of gauzy silk and hid
behind beautiful fans, their long hair hiding much of their faces.  Once
in a while they would smile, revealing blackened teeth.

"I'm really glad the standards of beauty have changed," Hikaru said, and
shuddered.  He did have to grin at a vision of Akari with stained teeth;
she'd look positively hideous like that.

When he'd finally choked down enough to calm his rumbling stomach, he
returned his tray to the servants and found Naritada talking with other
upper ranked courtiers near a stream that ran through the mansion
grounds.  Hikaru peered into the flowing water, seeing his current
appearance reflected for the first time.  He wasn't sure he liked what
he saw.

"Kami-sama, why did you listen to my wish?" he asked.  "Why on earth am
I really here?"

He heard footsteps behind him, and turned around to see a sour, middle-
aged man glaring at him from the circle of courtiers.  Hikaru shivered
and looked away.  The man was positively frightening.

"Ah, Hikaru, you are here.  The Emperor is in the West Corridor now.
You must be sure to play him to the fullest of your abilities, as His
Majesty is a formidable opponent.  His tutors have taught him well."

"Who is His Majesty's current tutor?" Hikaru asked as they crossed the
footbridge over the stream.

"Tsuyujima-san has remained the tutor since Sai disappeared.  No one can
beat his skill.  He is over there," Naritada said, and pointed to the
man who had been glaring at Hikaru moments ago.  "Perhaps you will play
a game with him today as well."

Suddenly Hikaru became very afraid.  Tsuyujima was the man who had
caused Sai to be exiled . . . who had caused Sai to die.


* * *

Akira had returned to the hotel in the vain hope that Hikaru might have
returned to the room they were sharing with Waya and Isumi, but found
only those two playing an afternoon game on Waya's laptop to while away
the afternoon hours.  Akira watched the game with interest; go was go,
whether played on a kaya board or a pixilated screen.

"You're not on the network, are you?" Akira asked, peering at the game.

"Naw, we're just using a standard download program.  This hotel doesn't
have net access.  Figures."  Waya placed a stone, accompanied by an
electronic "meep!".  "I wanted to check my email.  Ugh, it isn't fair!"

"Waya-kun's an email-aholic," Isumi said with a smile.

"Only because people send me really interesting things! That, and I'm on
the "who is Sai?" mailing list still, and I could be missing out on an
important clue to his identify."

"There's a Sai mailing list?" Akira asked, surprised.  He hadn't thought
about the strange person who'd won against his father in quite some
time, until Isumi had mentioned him earlier that afternoon. "You all are
still searching for that person?"

"That person remains an elusive ghost.  No one has seen him since that
last game the Meijin -- Touya-san's father, that is -- played against
him.  But that just makes me more determined to find out who he is.
Isumi-kun, it's your turn."

"I know, I know," Isumi said, a look of fierce concentration upon his
face.

Waya sighed and leaned back, sipping a cola.  "But the list HAS slowed
down in the last couple of months.  It's old news.  Only a few people
are doggedly trying to track him down now.  You know Ogata-san?  He
hounds every member of the list, demanding any information that they
have about him."

"No one knows anything besides his name," Akira objected.  "And his
skill."

"The god of igo," Isumi murmured, and placed a stone on the laptop.

"Don't start with that nonsense again, Isumi-kun," Akira said sharply.
"Sai has only the most . . . tenuous connection with Shindou, and Sai
has nothing to do with his disappearance."

Waya quickly placed another stone, and yawned.  "Well, as long as he
hasn't gotten arrested or anything, and he pays his share of the hotel
bill, I can't complain that he's not hanging around.  Sheesh, Shindou-
kun can be so moody sometimes."

Akira felt that something important had just happened, and he had missed
it.  He stared at the screen of Waya's laptop, feeling the flow of the
game in his mind, at the same time replaying the conversation of the
past few minutes, trying to catch what he hadn't processed before.

That person remains an elusive ghost . . . the god of go.

"Isumi, it's your turn again! Play!"

"Stop being so impatient, Waya-kun."

Where had Hikaru gone?

* * *

His Majesty, the Emperor Ichijo, was about thirty years old.  Because
Hikaru's low rank technically did not allow him access to the divine
presence of the god-emperor, His Majesty's face was nearly covered with
a cowl, and he hid behind a fan.  Hikaru had the vaguest feeling of
playing someone online, since he couldn't read the Emperor's
expressions.

Naritada and Michinaga, the Regent, stood close by and watched.

"The boy is remarkable," Naritada said to his cousin in a quiet voice.
"His style of play is very unique, unlike anything I can recall, and yet
his strength reminds me of Sai."

Michinaga said nothing, but looked at the game impassively.  Normally
around this time of day he would be playing with his grandchildren, the
Crown Princes of Japan.  Instead he was watching his son-in-law play a
game against a veritable stranger, on the word of a cousin who had all
but retired from the court recently.

Finally Michinaga spoke.  "Where did he say he was from again?"

"From a village called Tokyo, Your Excellency."

"I have never heard of such a place."

"I assume it must be very far away then, Your Excellency."  Naritada
peered thoughtfully at the board.  "Now, see, that move is what I would
have done, and what Sai would have done as well.  I taught Sai to play
go, if you recall."

"And created another dreamer in the court."  Michinaga flipped open his
fan and held it to his face, creating a sharp contrast against his
darkly stained lips.

"Oh?" Naritada said with a smile.  "Would you rather have a dreamer, or
a schemer?"

"Dreams are as dangerous as schemes, when the dream pool's reflection
accurately shows one's potential."  Michinaga considered that last
phrase again, and decided to add it to his journal in a poetic form
later.  " 'Does not the acorn dream of oak trees?' " he quoted.

"If it does, then the cherry blossoms must also dream of scattering on
the wind," Naritada countered.

"The future is ahead of all of us."  Michinaga chose not to argue the
point.  He peered closely at the game, which had progressed in absolute
silence from both parties.  Michinaga was good at go; everyone in the
court was an adept player at least, but the game before him was higher
than that.  His son-in-law the Emperor was an exceptional player of his
own right, yet the stranger's game was up to this point confident,
assertive, and strong.  Ichijo might have trouble winning the game.

"He shall have to play Tsuyujima after this," Naritada said.  "That will
be a most excellent match up."

"I don't want a recreation of the events of four years ago," Michinaga
warned.  "Tsuyujima is jealous of his skill and position.  He does not
like interference."

"No, he doesn't," Naritada agreed softly.  "He doesn't like competition
at all."

* * *

The Emperor's skill was several levels above Naritada.  Hikaru had to
work much harder to concentrate.  Not being able to see his opponent's
face disturbed him, and the game was very close.

His legs were beginning to hurt from sitting in the formal position for
so long.  How had Sai done this, every day?  Even during pro matches
they at least had a break to stretch out their legs and return the
circulation to their feet.   Hikaru and the Emperor had been going for
nearly two hours now, and as they approached the endgame, Hikaru had to
resist the temptation drop into the more comfortable cross-legged
position.  To do so would have been utterly disrespectful toward the
Emperor.

Hikaru placed a stone on the board, and let his fingers linger there for
a moment as he studied the changes that the move had made on the matrix
before them.  Was it his imagination, or had a bit of the magic leaked
out from his hands just then?  A faint mote of light, but there
nonetheless?

He was now winning by two moku, by his count.  He should be able to
increase the lead by another in the next few hands.

He grabbed his next stone in anticipation, when the Emperor spoke for
the first time.

"Wonderful," he said from behind his fan, and Hikaru risked a glance up
to catch the Emperor's eyes glittering from beneath the cowl.  "This is
the way that go is meant to be played."

Naritada had given Hikaru specific instructions not to speak to the
Emperor, so he did not reply, but instead gave a sort of crooked smile
in response.

"I have lost," the Emperor said then, surprising Hikaru.  They weren't
into the endgame yet; things could have still been turned around if he
had made a mistake.

Unable to speak, Hikaru pointed to a spot on the board where the Emperor
had gone a few turns before, then shook his head.  He pointed to the
place that would have been better with his fan, just like Sai had done
when they played together, and nodded to show it was the best move at
the time.  Then he bowed low, and the Emperor bobbed slightly before
Michinaga and an entire entourage  of courtiers higher than the fifth
rank gathered around them to study the game with interest.

"Oh, what an interesting shape!"

"I've never seen a game come out looking quite like this, Your Majesty."

Everyone fawned over the Emperor, who was, of course, infinitely more
important than Hikaru in their eyes, but Naritada approached Hikaru
instead and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Well done, young Hikaru-san," he said.  "A beautiful game.  I'm glad
you were permitted to play the Emperor; he is the second most skilled in
the court, behind Tsuyujima."

Hikaru remembered the sour faced man from before and shuddered.

"At any rate, you've impressed the Emperor.  I can certainly see him
granting you fifth rank status at the next festival, just so he can play
with you again."

"He's a very good player," Hikaru admitted.  "The game wasn't really
finished yet."

"Oh? Do you think you would have lost?"  Naritada grinned at the young
man.

"No way!" Hikaru grinned and tapped his fan against his chin.  "Well, if
I made a mistake, he could have won."

"I have a feeling you're not the type of person to make mistakes in a
game."

"Not anymore, anyway.  You should have seen me when I first started!
Why, S--" Hikaru cut off when he realized that he was about to explain
how Sai had taught him the basics but never corrected mistakes until
well after Hikaru had already made them.  It forced Hikaru to see now
only where the mistake had been made, but also WHY it was a mistake.  As
a learning tool, it had been utilized by go teachers for centuries.

"Everyone has to start somewhere.  When did you learn to play go,
Hikaru?"

"Only . . . three and a half years ago.  Not that long at all."  Hikaru
adjusted his tate-eboshi again, and looked back to the cluster of
courtiers around the Emperor.  Suddenly, Tsuyujima caught his eye.

Hikaru bit his lip.  The sour faced man was walking toward him.

Naritada gripped Hikaru's shoulder as Tsuyujima approached them.  The
other man bowed too low, almost sarcastically so, and gave Hikaru a
sickly smile.  Hikaru did not return it.

"Truly a match well played," Tsuyujima said.  "Most impressive, if done
with a strange style."

Hikaru gazed levelly at the other man, but said nothing.

Tsuyujima was unfazed.  "I would like to play a game with you this
evening," he said.  Naritada tightened his grip on Hikaru's shoulder in
warning.

This is the man that had Sai killed.

Suddenly Hikaru was angry, angry at the circumstances which had ruined
Sai's life here in the Heian, angry at the politics that would have an
innocent man killed just to protect someone else's power.  At the center
of his anger stood not Michinaga, who actually didn't seem like the man-
eating beast history had made him out to be, but this man, this
Tsuyujima, who had accused Sai of cheating to protect his own interests.

"If that is a challenge," Hikaru said quietly, "then I have no choice
but to accept it."

* * *

As he sat down before the go board, Hikaru knew that this was one game
that he could not afford to lose.

He recalled Sai once telling him about a daydream he'd had -- where he
had played his final game against Tsuyujima differently, taking no
stones in the heated battle. He had imagined the court laughing as he
pointed to the empty lid, saying, "Um, I don't see anything here, do
you?"

Now Hikaru and Tsuyujima sat before the Emperor, who was behind a
screen. Next to him was Michinaga and several attendants. The floor
below was smoothed wood, although the two go players had cushions to
kneel upon.  A solemn tension filled the air, and Hikaru found it a
little difficult to breathe.

"Please," Tsuyujima said, and they chose stones in the manner of an even
game -- Hikaru ended up with black.

The sleeves of his Heian court rob drifted against the wooden floor as
he placed stone after stone, his eyes darkened with concentration as he
sought out Tsuyujima's weaknesses.  Igo is a representation of the heart
of the player, and the war fought with shale and shell on the board is a
battle of wills more than anything else.

Hikaru glanced up and saw the eyes of Tsuyujima, and felt his first stab
of doubt.  This man was Sai's rival, even if he had resorted to cheating
to make sure he retained his favored position in the court.  Tsuyujima's
eyes held a weight to them, a weight that could drag the heart of his
opponent down into the glooms of despair if they fell into them.  It was
the same look that Akira's eyes held, only colder and somehow more
frightening.  An opponent had told Hikaru that his eyes took on the same
look when he was really serious.

Hikaru was stronger than most go players, however, and resisted the
dragging menace of the older man's stare.

I have to win this for Sai, he told himself, as he placed another stone,
gritting his teeth as paths of black and white formed before his eyes.
I have no alternative to winning!

Those same words had not been able to help him win many times before,
but perhaps for the first time Hikaru honestly believed them.  Failure
was not an option.

* * *

The Museum of the Heian was in a comfortable building across the street
from the south end of Imperial Park.  Akira had not known quite what to
expect, but he was pleasantly surprised to learn that they not only had
a small shrine to go, which he studied thoroughly for at least an hour,
but also a small public library full of records, similar to that in the
Go Institute in Tokyo.

Akira's curiosity overtook him, and he selected a tome dated from the
late Heian.  The actual book was a reprint from the 1950s with the
written language changed from the Chinese characters and record writing
to modern kana and kanji.  While spoken Japanese hadn't evolved all that
much in the past thousand years, at least beyond the multitude of
imported words as far as the modern scholars could tell, written
Japanese had not settled into the current form until much more recently.
Genuine Heian documents, or more likely copies of them, were all but
impossible for someone not trained to understand them.

Restlessly, he began to read about the reign of Regent Michinaga.

* * *

They were nearing mid-game.  Hikaru was holding up well despite the
ruthless onslaught from an opponent who had little honor; the game was
still within his favor by a few moku, although in a modern game Hikaru
would actually be behind by several due to the komi advantage given to
white.

They had played in silence until then, but as Hikaru placed a stone in a
spot that seemed to almost glow with power, Tsuyujima said softly, "You
were a student of Sai's, were you not?"

A few motes of the magic seemed to escape from Hikaru's fingers as
Tsuyujima continued.  He had gained at least two definite moku with the
move, leaving them with a game that was even by modern standards.

"I can see the power in you, the same strength that existed in Sai."

Hikaru gently lifted his fingers off the stone, wishing the magic would
stay for more than just a few seconds.  "I have never met the person
named Sai," he half-fibbed.  He had met the ghost, but not the man.  He
would never see that person, even if the kami had given him this chance
to meet a Heian go player . . .

Why had the gods listened to his half-joking prayer? he asked himself
again.  Tsuyujima placed another stone, almost tempting Hikaru to
capture it, but he knew about the traps that his opponent could lay.  Go
relied on honor, trust, and honesty between two opponents.  When one
opponent proved capable of violating that trust, he lost his honor.

Perhaps, Hikaru mused as he attacked Tsuyujima with a daring push deep
into the other player's territory, the gods wanted to give me a chance
to avenge Sai's honor.

"If you did not learn igo under Sai, then I am a wandering warrior,"
Tsuyujima finally replied.  He had been analyzing the board, and with a
start Hikaru realized that it did, indeed, look on par to a game that
Sai would have played.  There were a lot of modern moves intertwined
with Sai's distinctive domination patterns, but the imprint of Sai was
in every black stone on that board.

I owe it to Sai to get this bastard, Hikaru thought suddenly with a
grin, and then attacked even deeper into Tsuyujima's territory.  "I bet
you're a better warrior than you are a courtier, anyway," Hikaru
taunted.  "Without go, you'd be all but useless here at court!"

Tsuyujima's eyes bugged out at the verbal attack, but he managed to
control his temper with several deep breaths.  "Better to be a useless
courtier than a false interloper of no rank who cuts his hair short and
wears borrowed clothes!" he hissed.

Hikaru almost burst out laughing.  Tsuyujima's insults would have
probably stung if he hadn't been born in the 20th century.  "You're a
thousand years too early to get the best of me," he said, and slammed
down another stone.

"There should be more thought as to the current time and place for a
petty fight," one courtier in the front row whispered to another.

"There will be silence in the court!" the regent called sternly to the
speakers.

Obviously, Michinaga had overheard their conversation, even though it
had been spoken in hushed tones.

Tsuyujima glared at the board.  He'd lost face by forgetting his temper
in front of the Emperor.  They probably would not drop his ranking or
exile him, but now it would be a long time before was promoted again.

"Sai wouldn't have gotten angry," Hikaru whispered as a parting shot.

That did it.

Hikaru heard a quiet sound as Tsuyujima picked up an extra stone from
his bucket -- a black one that had purposely been mixed in with his
white prior to the game, no doubt -- and dropped it into the lid where
all his other captured stones had been stored.


Hikaru was about to cry foul, and Tsuyujima looked as though he were
about to accuse Hikaru of what he himself had just done, when the
Emperor's firm voice rang throughout the court.

"I saw that."

"I did too!" Naritada said, glaring at Tsuyujima, who had turned an
interesting shade of gray.  "Just like I saw it four years ago when my
nephew Sai faced this player!"

The court immediately burst into murmurs as several of the other
courtiers nodded in affirmation.  They'd had no choice but to believe
Tsuyujima at the time, but privately everyone had agreed that Sai would
never *need* to cheat.

"Lies!" Tsuyujima cried out, his face an interesting shade of purple.

"So you're saying His Majesty is lying?" Hikaru said with a smirk.  "Not
the smartest thing to do right now, dummy."

Michinaga stepped out from behind the screen, his expression unreadable.
It probably grated on his nerves that the plan to discredit Sai was now
coming back to haunt him, but Tsuyujima had acted without Michinaga's
support in this case and could not count on him to bail him out.

Michinaga stared at the board for a few moments.

"The outcome of the game is clear.  Shindou no Hikaru's igo is stronger.
Sugawara no Akitada, for lying in front of the Emperor, the punishment,
as you know, is exile.  For six months in this case."

Hikaru nearly jumped when he heard the name; he hadn't realized that
Tsuyujima was the man's formal title.  Nearly everyone in the court went
by a formal title, but Sai had never mentioned one for himself, and so
Hikaru hadn't though to ask for Tsuyujima's real name.

"I'll go."  The defeated courtier rose with a curious dignity, his
shoulders held high as he left the chamber.

It was then that Hikaru made the worst mistake he possibly could have.

"Just don't drown yourself like Sai did!" he called out across the
court, which immediately fell into deadly silence.

Open mouth, insert foot.  Hikaru felt his blood freeze as every pair of
eyes in the court bored through him.

Naritada paled.  "How do you know that Sai drowned?"

"Uh . . . that is, I, um--"

"You'd better explain, young man," Michinaga said, raising one eyebrow.

* * *
The entire court stared at him.  Hikaru felt like he was caught in one
of those never-ending dreams, the bad ones where you're in school
dressed in nothing but your underwear, or a chicken suit.

He coughed.

Aw, hell, at this point, the truth wouldn't hurt, now would it?

"I was sent here to avenge Fujiwarano Sai."

The court began tittering again, and Naritada's ashen face was enough to
make Hikaru regret telling the truth.  But he pressed on.

"Sai . . . to me, was a ghost.  He drowned and became a wandering
spirit.  Just a few years ago . . ." Hikaru actually felt tears begin to
well up in his eyes.  "A few years ago, I found him in my grandfather's
go board."

The truth, with no mention of the thousand-year gap.  But surely no one
would believe such a story, even the superstitious Heian people.

He continued anyway.  "Sai taught me how to play go, so that I could
help him reach for the hand of god, even from beyond death.  But Sai
left.  He left me with nothing but his go."  Hikaru stared at his hands,
the nails chipped and scarred from holding go stones, the tips of his
thumb, index, and middle finger rough and calloused from years of
serious play.

"So Sai became a ghost, eh?" Naritada suddenly said, breaking the
awkward silence. Everyone turned to the old courtier in surprise.  "I
always thought there was a touch of the supernatural in him."

Michinaga interrupted.  "Surely we cannot accept the word of a stranger
--"

"I believe him as well," one of the other courtiers called out from the
audience.  "I saw him recreate a game from the depths of his mind, and
in that game I know that I saw Sai!"

Others began muttering in affirmation.  Michinaga's face grew darker and
darker; the position of Regent required strict adherence to custom and
ceremony but little belief, and he would not want anyone thinking that
even an acquitted Sai was closer to the gods than his son-in-law, the
Emperor.  Yet even Ichijo chimed in, saying, "I too saw the hand of God
-- and Sai -- within his go."

Hikaru was weeping silently now, knowing that the debt he'd owed Sai had
partly been repaid, although Sai himself would never be aware of it.

I think, he began to himself, I think it's okay to go home now.  I want
to go home.  I want to play with Akira, and Waya and everyone again . .
. I want to hear Akari and my mother nagging me . . . I want to be in my
own world.  I don't belong here.  I'm a stranger -- hell, half the
people can't even understand me here.  This is not my Japan.

Naritada came to stand by him.

"I owe you more than words can say," he said, grasping Hikaru's hands
within his own.  "My nephew's disappearance has always been a bone of
contention within the court.  So he truly . . . drowned?"

Hikaru nodded, glad he was finally able to speak freely with Naritada.
"Two days after his exile began.  I'm glad I was able to meet him.  You
know, he taught me almost everything.  He played against the greatest
pro in my ti-- er, town, the Meijin, and I began my own race against the
Meijin's son.  If I had never met Sai, I would never have found my go."

Naritada smiled, although his face looked older than it had before.  "I
am glad you were able to be touched by him.  Did he perchance reach the
hand of god before he . . . left?"

Hikaru shook his head sadly.  "He managed to pass on his legacy,
however, and even if I don't reach the hand of god myself, I will make
sure to do the same."  He chuckled softly, wiping away the last of his
tears.  "I hope I don't become a ghost, though."



"Will you return to Tokyo now?"

"I don't think I have a choice.  If I am allowed to, then I will go, and
nothing can stop it."

"You're welcome to stay here as long as you need.  I'm an old man, I
like the company."

"Thank you."

Hikaru surveyed the court one last time, then felt the familiar tingle
of the magic returning.  Is this how Sai felt? he wondered, as his limbs
began to lose their feeling.  Is this how he knew it was time to move
on?

Swiftly, as there was now no time to spare, Hikaru knelt low before the
screen, nearly prostrating himself before the Emperor.  "Your Majesty,"
he began as loudly as he could without being rude, "please return the
name Fujiwara no Sai to the records of your court."

"Absolutely --" Michinaga began.

"Of course," the Emperor interrupted him, giving his father-in-law a
look that was unreadable from behind the screen.  "And Tsuyujima will be
duly struck out."

Hikaru smiled as he felt himself fade into the ether.  From the gasps of
the courtiers around him, he knew that his disappearance was not going
unnoticed.

"Hikaru!" Naritada called, and tried to grab onto the kneeling boy
before him.  But not even Naritada could stop the power of the gods, and
Hikaru's last conscious thought before letting the magic overtake him
was that even Michinaga was going to have to believe him after that
little show.

* * *

Twilight had set before Akira almost gave up in disgust.  Shindou was
probably back at the hotel, eating ramen and laughing at Akira for
running around Kyoto all day looking for him.  Akira was angry with
himself for getting so worked up over Hikaru's total thoughtlessness,
but there was nothing to be done about that except yelling at him the
next time he saw him.

"Shindou!" Akira slammed his fist onto the library table, vowing to read
one more page and no more before leaving.

He blinked, however, when he turned the page and the letters were
glowing red.

Before his eyes the ink actually rearranged itself.  He blinked a few
more times, and shook his head to see if it was a hallucination.  He'd
heard stories about fumes emanating from books as they aged, but nothing
to this extent.

"This is . . ." be muttered to himself, and quickly read the text that
was now forming before his very eyes.  He couldn't help it; he
concentrated as he did when a go game suddenly took a bad turn.

"Kankou One: The tutor known as Fujiwara no Naritada retired, leaving
his court position to both his nephew Fujiwarano Sai and his second
cousin, whose name has been struck from history. Kankou Three: The tutor
to the Emperor known as Fujiwarano Sai died.  Kankou Four: The tutor
whose name shall forever be banned from history began to teach his
Majesty alone.  Kankou Seven:  The tutor known as Shindou Hikaru, a
student of Fujiwarano Sai, traveled to Heian-kyou to avenge his master.
Kankou Seven: The tutor whose name has been struck from history was
exiled from court for six month.  He lived out his life in the
provinces.  Kankou Seven: The tutor known as Shindou Hikaru died."

Horrified, Akira slammed the book shut, not believing what he had seen.
History didn't happen like that! The words had reformed as he watched;
the paragraph that he'd read only minutes before was completely
different.  Sugawara no Akitada had been the only tutor to the Emperor
since Fujiwara no Naritada retired in Kankou Three.  And now he was
replaced by two names -- one which was surreally familiar -- that had
not been there before.

"Ugh, it's late," Akira said, rubbing his eyes and chalking the whole
thing up to those hallucinogenic fumes.  "I've got to go to bed.  I can
kill Shindou in the morning."

He left the books carelessly on the table, knowing the librarians would
shelve them behind him, and stumbled out of the museum, longing for
nothing more a hot cup of tea and a soak in the onsen.  It had been an
exhausting day.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem like he was going to get it anytime soon,
because as soon as he stepped into evening light, he heard his named
being yellow from across the Imperial Park.

"Touya!" Shindou's brash, still high-pitched voice called across the
twilight park.  Ridiculous, floppy garments hung off his tall form,
impeding his speed, but he still approached Akira at a frightening
velocity.

"Shindou-kun! Where the hell have you been all day?!" Akira shouted,
running to meet his rival for reasons he couldn't fathom.  Across the
lawns they raced, as if they had been separated for years instead of
hours.

Finally, they met, but stopped short just a few feet of each other.
Hikaru leaned over, gasping for breath, and caught the tall tate-eboshi
hat as it fell of his head.  Akira realized then that he was dressed in
the style of a Heian courtier.

The image of the changing words returned to his mind.

"Where the heck did you get an outfit like that?"

Hikaru continued breathing heavily for a few moments, then answered, "A
store, where else?"

"That looks like genuine silk," Akira said, incredulous.  "An outfit
like that must have cost over a hundred thousand yen!"

"It was on sale!"

Shindou Hikaru, the student of Fujiwarano Sai, of the Heian court.  Was
it to be believed?  Was that, after all, the connection between Sai and
Hikaru?"

Drained, Akira's shoulders dropped in defeat.  He may have found another
piece to the puzzle that was Hikaru, but now the entire picture had
grown larger . . . to where it spanned a thousand years.  It was too
much.  It was simply too much.

"Let's go back to the hotel."

Hikaru finally looked at him then, perhaps expecting more of Akira's
wrath, but then he smiled suddenly.  He had an older air about him than
he had had this morning, as if he had lived many years in just one day.

"Yeah, let's go back, Touya."  He handed Akira a single go stone, and
Akira stared at the chipped black surface for a moment. "Someday, I will
tell you everything. About today, about the past . . . everything.  But
not now."

The stone looked old, as old as if it too had been dated from the Heian
court.  Akira's rage returned in a rush.  "You stole this from the go
store, didn't you?"

"What? -- Hell no!"

"I can't believe I defended you to the shopkeeper!"

"I'm NOT a thief, moron!"

"So what were you DOING all day then, huh? Hiding?"

"I . . . uh, I was  . . . I was playing go!"

They continued arguing, but started walking toward the hotel on the east
side of Old Kyoto, side by side, the last rays of the setting sun
beaming down upon them.

* * *

The End


--Cat Who
www.catwho.net
tprara@catwho.net
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